


Love is an Apparition

by evergreen_melancholy



Series: Memories of a Touch [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Marco wants Mario really badly but doesn't know how, More angst, Repressed Memories, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 11:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreen_melancholy/pseuds/evergreen_melancholy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the rescue, Mario is fine. Marco, on the other hand, can't piece together what he's lost even though it's right in front of him. Their relationship takes a tumble, begins to crumble, and all Mario can do is hang on. Part 2 of the 'Memories of a Touch' verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is an Apparition

**Author's Note:**

> Will be multi-chaptered, but I hope you enjoy it so far~

Title: Love is an Apparition

Summary: After the rescue, Mario is fine. Marco, on the other hand, can't piece together what he's lost even though it's right in front of him. Their relationship takes a tumble, begins to crumble, and all Mario can do is hang on. Part 2 of the 'Memories of a Touch' verse.

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Sexual themes and many f-bombs

Disclaimer: this is fiction, my imagination, and nothing real.

 

 

*

Mario's definitely had better days. He's definitely had better games as well, and better nights at home. Lately, everything's just been out of place, and Mario knows that it'll never be the same again.

Ever since the kidnapping, the attack, everything--the media is everywhere, clawing at him and Marco for interviews, ambushing them for details--and all Mario wants to do is just get away from everything. But he can't. He can't talk to Marco like he used to, can't confide in him, can't touch him, can't feel him--can't do _anything_ , because...Marco doesn't _remember._

*

Marco doesn't remember anything, except for his name, his parents, his old teammates...everything before Mario. Ironically, Marco remembers how to play football, although he's a bit rusty on the edges, but his body naturally responds to the pitch and he's beginning to grasp hold of the sport again.

He remembers his team--their faces, at least. He recognizes them, but cannot call out to them. Marco has a better grasp of the situation at hand, understands that he had gotten attacked and is currently suffering from some amnesia, and grasps that his health is not affected. He can still play football, and he is very grateful for that.

The only thing that he can't grasp yet is Mario.

Marco remembers that he woke in the hospital to a _beautiful_ face, and it took him a while to understand that apparently, that beautiful face belonged to Mario, who was his _boyfriend_ , and he rescued him from thugs who tried to use Mario as blackmail. And in the process, Marco saved Mario from a second attack, and ended up in the position he was in.

It's a lot of information to handle, and Marco needs to try to hold a grasp on his own sanity first. Mario isn't helping at all. It's not that Marco rejects him, or anything--Marco's just surprised. Marco still needed to accept the fact that he was with Mario, and that they have apparently done _things_ , and even though Marco can't even remember, he feels this strange pull coming from Mario, as if he were the center of the universe. And then Marco sees Mario smile at him, despite the fact that Marco can't remember anything, and Mario's just _genuinely smiling_ at him with a sad crinkle in his eye and a dimple in his cheek and--

Marco feels something sharp in his head, it hurts, there's something tugging at his heart, but still he can't remember. He smiles back at Mario anyway, because Mario's cute, and Mario's his, and even if Marco doesn't remember, what they had was still there...

Right?

*

Mario moves in with Marco for the time being to keep an eye over him. Löw tells him to keep Marco safe and alive until he feels comfortable with his teammates, and for the first time, Mario is thankful and grateful for everything Löw has done.

When he comes home from practice, he finds Marco in the living room, staring at a photo in front of the television. It's both of them, before the relationship, before feelings and crushes and passionate nights. It's an innocent photograph, and Mario looks at it too. He smiles fondly at it, and catches Marco looking at him from the corner of his eye.

The room is suddenly very quiet, despite the soft drumming of rain outside. Mario opens his mouth to say something, but it's Marco who breaks the silence first.

"How long ago was that photo?" Marco gestures with his hand, and Mario stares at those long fingers.

"A while ago," he says, and tries to keep his voice steady. "It was actually before we were, um, together." Mario feels blood in his cheeks, and awkwardly rubs the back of his head as he waits for a reply from Marco.

"Ah, I see," Marco says, still staring at the photo. "You're-- _we're_ \--I mean, we look happy. Really happy."

He's standing closer to Mario now, and Mario can practically _feel_ the heat off Marco--but he has to control himself.

"We were," Mario says softly. "And we still were, until you, uh, you know." His voice trails off, and he looks up at Marco.

"Until I lost my memory," Marco finishes for him.

"Yeah, _that_ ," Mario says.

A while passes between them, and Mario can feel the awkward tension in the air. He wants to do something, to say something--but he's not sure if he can. He's not sure if he even has the right to anymore. So he stays quiet, and watches Marco continue to study the photograph.

"Are there any others?" Marco asks out of the blue, and Mario almost jumps. He collects himself quickly, and fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

"Yeah, there are," he says, and walks over to the hallway.

There's a bulletin board, with photos of them all over the place--on a date at the beach, at a bar, Marco draped over Mario on a boat, Mario in Marco's lap--the photos haunt Mario, haunt him until Marco's presence next to him jolts him out of his daze.

"These--all of these, they're real," Marco says, and Mario's not sure what he means.

"I mean that, even if I can't remember, these photographs show the truth." And Marco's touching the one where he has Mario in his lap, and they're both smiling at the camera, eyes crinkling and genuinely happy.

"Yeah, they show the truth," Mario mutters, and wrenches his eyes away from Marco's hands again.

When he looks up, the other man's eyes are on him, and Mario feels hot under his collar, because Marco's eyes are as piercing as ever, and--

"Are you angry at me?" Marco asks suddenly, and Mario is at first stunned by the question--but then he immediately shakes his head.

"Never," he whispers. "I can't be angry, Marco."

Mario watches as Marco's cheeks color a bit, but Marco's still staring at him.

"I loved you, Marco, and I still do."

He's telling the truth. He _loves_ Marco, even if Marco probably doesn't love him at the moment.

The other man's eyes are on him again, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches out a hand, ruffles Mario's hair like he had done so before, before this, and Mario feels like everything is okay again. Only that it is not.

They spend the rest of the evening watching TV, a little too far from each other on the couch, until Mario daringly scoots closer to Marco, close enough so that there's heat between the two, but far enough so that Marco won't be uncomfortable. And then, a couple minutes later, the rain stops, the clock reads one-thirty in the morning, and Mario scoots closer until his legs touch Marco's.

He rests his hand on top of Marco's larger ones, and feels relieved when Marco doesn't pull away. They stay like that watching late-night talk shows until it's three in the morning, until Marco yawns, and Mario leads Marco up the stairs, where they fall into bed together.

They're not touching, not facing another, and Mario waits until Marco's breathing is slow and steady next to him before he quietly turns around.

He stares at Marco's back, counts vertebrae, and, eventually, falls asleep to the sound of soft breathing.

*

Marco wakes up first, slightly disorientated, and it takes him a couple of minutes to realize that yes, it's his house, he's in his room, and he's still Marco. And then he turns to the side, almost falls off the bed when he's face to face with a heavily sleeping Mario.

Marco immediately stills, and feels blood rush to his face--he's not used to this yet, not used to the fact that Mario is his... _boyfriend_ , and that things like this are okay. Marco blushes a little more when he finds himself staring at Mario's eyelashes, which flutter along his cheeks as he snores softly. The long eyelashes suit him, he finds himself thinking. In fact, he's been thinking about Mario more than he should. He can't help it, it's like Mario has just taken root in Marco's mind, and it's not that he doesn't like Mario--hell, Marco finds Mario _very_ attractive, and there's no problem with him--but, Marco just can't bear the fact that he can't remember anything about him. The photographs haunt him, as if showing him a life that he will never have; showing him what he actually has but cannot hold. He wants to hold Mario like he did in the photograph, but he doesn't even know how to talk to him properly--and it hurts, it does. But he's pretty sure that it hurts Mario even more.

_Mario._

His eyes focus on Mario's mouth, slightly open and red, and Marco suddenly, suddenly feels a pain in his head, and _fuck_ , he remembers that mouth against his and how _soft_ it was and how it fit with his perfectly, how it had opened when his tongue swiped across those lips, how it had felt when that mouth was on his _body_ and--

Marco winces as the dull throbs in his head go away, and tries to think of everything but Mario's lips. His head is dizzy, he has so many emotions but he doesn't know how to express them--he wants to love Mario and wants to remember, but there's gaps in his mind and he can't locate the pieces, and it drives him crazy. Mario's sleeping face drives him crazy, and all of a sudden, the pain is back and Marco is seized with a sudden urge to push Mario into the mattress—he wants to grind their hips together until Mario's face contorts in pleasure, wants to have him _scream and moan_ —

Marco is suddenly painfully hard, and he really isn't sure what he's doing anymore, so he slowly rises out of bed, strips, and takes a shower. He sees Mario in his mind again, and isn't sure if the image is real—but it's Mario, writhing below him, eyes lusty and looking into his, and Marco has to stop himself because _goddamn_ , he doesn't even know if it's a memory, or his imagination, but it's hot _as fuck_ , and Marco can't do anything about it. A part of him needs Mario, but he doesn't know which part yet.

He slowly takes himself in his own hand, and comes fast with images of Mario in his mind. As he steps out of the shower and stares at his own reflection, Marco tries to tell himself that what he feels is fatigue, and not guilt.

*


End file.
